Selah

Andre. There's a fine line between everything. Just an observation.

[metamorphesque]

"Poems are not written...", Andrey Voznesensky (translated by metamorphesque)

[thewalkersjournal]

Heat like an oven

Humidity like a stone wall

Legs about to buckle

But my eyes were greeted by auburn sky

the Sun, flanked by these monuments

Of unlikely prosperity.

And I carried on.

[thewalkersjournal]

we are well-versed in the way

of the world, we have acquired

a taste for futility.

dust and ashes fill our mouths,

our bellies grinding gravel

our skin sticky with mud -

we like it.

we used to say we would not,

would never, how could we

yet now we accept our lot

and the clarity and joy

we replaced -

we have forgotten.

[thewalkersjournal]

let me dream, O God,

of a ladder that descends

from heaven, angels

moving up and down,

light like silk falling

illumine the desert ground

like a sea of dancing gold.

The days they come

that take away all joy,

where my pen writes

with pain, each letter

as a scratch across

parched soil and stone.

we water ourselves

we write our Bethel

we are dashed on the stone

that once marked our bed.

In the Promised Land,

make me abound

just promise me not

stones and ashes

or the false milk and honey

everyone else is drunk on.

[adamantseal]

how did I become these bitter herbs

grown along the roadside

tremulous green

eating winter salt

my witness turned to pillar

in this statuary light

I have lost the hands to save you

white as stone

unmoveable

a feast for wilding deer

and crows

[drearydaffodil]

The softest slipping

Down and heather

Heaven held in

Between breaths

Blossoms blooming

Winter waning

Spring waits in

Seeded clouds

The winds will

Calm to cut

No more, healing

Will begin

[smakkabagms]

“The moon on her shoulder like skin– brightest and nightest desire.”

— Franz Wright, from “The Family’s Windy Summer Night,” Earlier Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2007)

[thewalkersjournal]

Quiet words shine a light

on your innermost parts;

like a spring wind they dispel

winter's fog, and reveal

the deadened trees.

Bring your mind to focus

see past the many

fix your weary, darting eyes

on the things that matter.

Write, give voice to hushed heart

pained in strife and muddle

and cast out unwelcome envy

from the guestrooms of your soul.

Love simply.

[megairea]

“a dark delicious rain Filling the earth with sleep and tears.”

— E.E. Cummings, from Nocturne; Collected Poems: 1904-1962

[thewalkersjournal]

The days they crawl with jagged limbs

across my skin, when stormy skies rule

the weeks, and disappointment hits home.

Like a whirlwind yet time swallows

the months, and I stand watching, hoping

for respite, a reprieve, yet none come.

The year is almost gone, I entered writhing

and leave it behind with a heavy groan.

[smakkabagms]

“The way to love anything is to realise that it might be lost.”

— G. K. Chesterton, from “The Advantages of Having One Leg,” Tremendous Trifles (Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1910)

[thewalkersjournal]

3am in New York

Dank Port Authority, bus delay.

from Toronto and now to Philly, ugh.

now to a train where the homeless

stalk your frame. Hungry, head in

for some McNuggets. Tarry little

and out you go into winter's cold

42nd Street, the Square all quiet

yet dimly iridescent of the charm

of yesteryear. Get heckled by a dude,

quick, your Amtrak ride's here.

Not a place I want to be,

yet something out of a dream.

[thewalkersjournal]

shift

There were days when those who dawdled and daydreamed were seen as useless, of no value to our kind. Our evolutionary propensities did not allow for even the slightest indolence. A day whiled away was a day wasted. We kept demanding perfection of ourselves, "growth" as many liked to call it, but when asked what that meant at the grave, not a single word could be heard. It was not fine to feel sadness or dejection, and groans and pains were explained away as weaknesses to be abhorred. Humanity was at its best when it was least human, like the machines we created - never erring, ever moving, never stopping.

Yet now, when we've tasted of all the goodness of life, we yearn to feel again. Occasional procrastination is now the hallmark of a healthy soul, and the pain of being human is receiving the validation that was long due. It is fine to feel sadness, it is fine to stop and rest for a while. Your tears are no longer cast aside but each one of them precious, and your broken soul is now one among many, shining in a world that was not perfect from the very beginning. No longer do your weaknesses need to be concealed, but rather they are now acknowledged, accepted. It is now a strength to admit the existence of sorrows and to embrace them; for without them how can hope for the better ever grace our souls?

It is fine, finally, to be human.

[thewalkersjournal]

singularity

Tell me, how does one make sense

of four happy faces

who at work put on pretense

to get in good graces?

Tell me, how do words array

to soothe a restive mind

to stir and fuel the fray,

yet some days form a grind?

The sun arouses anger

its heat and light unbound

but for it we'll want water

dead skies and frigid ground.

Man toils on to create tools,

to do his work and toil

yet fears the day he turns a fool

day his tool shall be his foil.

One divisible by naught

bright star to faceless void

at the center science distraught

light of all hope devoid.

[thewalkersjournal]

Tell me, how does one steel oneself against the world? Every day threatens to beat you down with its drudgery. Every day deigns to make you forget the gladness of your heart. Should one make his mark on the world and be angry if he fails to do so, or are such things futile? Do all not give up their breath to heaven eventually? But it is grievous indeed, if your toil is not sweet, if you do not pluck and relish the fruits of your labour along the way. How much is too much? How little is too little?

[nobrashfestivity]

Frederic Edwin Church  The Meteor of 1860, 1860

[ochyming-deactivated20220410]

Guo Hanshen  

1949-2004 

WAVES, 1992  

gold leaf and acrylic on paper 242.3 x 121.5 cm. | 95 3/8 x 47 13/16 in.